I returned to civilisation on Monday evening to discover that I have managed to attract my very own stalker. It appears that I am being watched, having my every move tracked, and there is no escape. Runkeeper is coming after me.
While I was away, traipsing through mud to watch some of my favourite bands on a farm in Somerset, I received this email:
Runkeeper knows. It knows I am not training. It knows that I haven’t done a run since the 15th June. It probably knows that I have been drinking cider, eating terrible food and generally undoing all the good work of the past month as well. And it is coming for me. Ten days is all it took for it to decide that I was having trouble staying motivated and needed to “keep my eye on the prize”. It’s almost like it read this, and then decided I needed a gentle prod to remind me of my priorities.
I blame myself for letting this happen. It’s all my fault. Last week I posted that I would be at Glastonbury, undertaking activities that would all be counter-productive to good running, and basically told my “personal trainer” Jeff Gaudette that I didn’t give a toss what he thought as I would be having the time of my life at the best festival in the world. But I didn’t count on Runkeeper deciding that this was in fact not acceptable, and that it was time to send me a patronising email to let me know I need to “stay on course”.
As it turns out, I’m currently plotting a route back on course, after navigating my way through choppy seas (well, muddy, cider-filled seas) and I’m almost there. After all the fun and games on the Eavis family farm, including one of the best gigs of my life (Pulp, since you asked), more Brother’s pear cider than is probably healthy and some of the stickiest mud I have ever experienced, it is all about to get Pretty Fucking Serious. This Sunday I will be officially starting training for the big event three months down the line, a gentle five mile run to introduce me into a programme of training that will result in me running over 40 miles a week, for 12 weeks, throughout the entire summer, with the singular aim of being able to successfully drag myself around 26.2 miles of scenic Liverpool roads and pathways. Unfortunately I’m two weeks late starting – and my new stalker isn’t going to let me forget it.